Azrael's Quarry
by huntergirl727
Summary: It's Sam's 30th birthday, Dean has been dead just over 5 years, and it has been a long, lonely 5 years.  Sam has finally found the way to kill demons and is going to get Dean back.  Can Sam save Dean?  Will there be anything left to save?
1. Chapter 1

**Thanks to KAZ2Y567i for the awesome depiction of Sam-without-Dean in **_**Nothing Else Matters**_**. That was an awesome fic and you should totally read it too. It inspired me to write this one. That story was only on chp 2 at the time of this writing, so if that story continues and they seem to be similar, I apologize, it was not intended. I think I have an idea where that story might go, though, and I'll try to stay away from it.**

**Thank you to everyone who reads this, please drop me a review if you have a minute (Good, bad, go to hell, or whatever. It's how I gauge if I should keep writing or salt and burn my computer.)**

**Disclaimer: I wish I owned Sam and Dean, but I don't. Kripke, Warner Bros, etc are the rightful owners of all involved here. No profit is being made from this fic, it just helps me pass the time until Season 3 starts.**

------------------------------------------------

It was a shitty little bar in the middle of nowhere, but it reminded him of half the bars he had ever been to in his life, and it felt as much a home as anywhere else. He sat in a dark booth in the most remote corner of the dive, instead of at the bar or near the dartboard, where someone he once knew would have always sat. He took another swig of the whiskey he was drinking and turned the page of the ancient text he was pouring over. Looking, always looking, for a way.

He knew what tomorrow was, not that it mattered to anyone else, and the day would pass just like the one thousand, nine hundred and eighteen days before it had. Alone. There would be no parties or cake to mark his third decade of life, just lonliness, and maybe, if he was lucky, killing something evil.

Sure, there had been a time after Dean died that Bobby tried to help, but like his brother before him, he had succeeded in pushing Bobby away to deal with his grief. Bobby rarely called anymore, and Sam would never call him. Bobby was too close, he knew too much about Sam's pain, so Sam shut him out completely. The further away from Bobby he got, the safer Bobby would be. The easier it would be for Sam to live with himself, not having to account to another living soul.

He chuckled quietly to himself. _Living soul_. He thought, shaking his head ever so slightly. He'd do anything to save one soul. He had even broken his promise to Dean and tried to make a deal with the Red Eyed Demon to get him back. But the monster had just laughed and mocked him, turning and disappearing into the dark night, still cackling maniacally.

He had thought about suicide, more than a few times, but remembering the tears in Dean's eyes when he made Sam promise not to do that, he couldn't bring himself to break that promise. He wondered occasionally if his recklessness on his hunts counted, but he didn't think about it hard enough to let it worry him. He didn't really care if he got killed on a hunt. Then all this would be over.

Sam had chosen to continue the hunt. Dean had tried to talk him into buying a new alias and social security number and going back to school, knowing that with the right amount of money, Sam Winchester could become Sam Matthews, immigrant from Canada, or any of a million different possibilities. But Sam knew there was no 'normal' life left for him. Demons had caused his life to take the course it had so far, and taken his whole family from him, and he would devote the rest of his miserable existence to tracking down and killing each and every one of them that he could.

And besides, it was the _family business_. It was the only thing left that made him feel close to his long-since-dead family.

He rarely spoke to anyone these days, most conversations consisting of his drink order and nothing else. No longer the lightweight he was 5 years ago, it was always whiskey, straight up.

He turned another page and rubbed his face, feeling the long scar that now creased his visage. It was the prize of the first hunt he went on after Dean... The vampire he was hunting ducked and weaved when he thought he would roll and cover. The vamp grabbed the machete Sam was weilding and grazed Sam's face, cutting a deep vertical gash along the right side, above and below his eye. He was thankful that human anatomy makes eyes indented, a feature which saved his vision in his right eye. _I really could have used a partner on that hunt,_ he thought.

Sam made a note in a book bound in leather, much like the one his father used to carry. Sam's journal had already surpassed John's in thickness, probably due to the mass amount of research Sam had been doing every day for the last 6 years.

Most interestingly, Sam now knew Colt's secret to killing demons. Not just exorcising them or sending them back to Hell. Actually killing them.

He closed the book he was reading and tossed back the small volume of whiskey remaining in his glass, and strode confidently from the bar, a light of renewed hope showing in his eyes. Tomorrow would be the day.

----------------------

**Author's Note: I couldn't seem to get past the first part for the longest time,**

**but now I think I know where I want this story to go and feel comfortable**

**posting this with the reasonable assumption I will add another chapter in the next**

**day or two. As I stated in the beginning, PLEASE REVIEW! I get discouraged when I don't **

**get any; hence why my story 'The Lurking Fear' has all but died.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for reading the first chapter! Special thanks to Ster1, tennischik09, lekelly, and laineyau for reviewing! Reviews are highly coveted and greatly appreciated, so if you can, please leave me a review! Thank you!!!**

**Disclaimer: I wish I owned Sam and Dean, but I don't. Kripke, Warner Bros, etc are the rightful owners of all involved here. No profit is being made from this fic, it just helps me pass the time until Season 3 starts.**

------------------------------------------------

Five churches. Colt had reinforced the Devil's Trap in Wyoming with churches. That was the first clue for Sam. It put him on a quest for understanding why Christian churches, Holy water, and Latin incantations of Biblical text could conjure, control, and ultimately kill evil.

He had gone over everything he could obtain on Colt and the gun Colt made for the hunter back in 1836, certain that if a 21 year old Samuel Colt could unveil the secrets of the unseen world, the 30 year old Samuel Winchester wouldn't be denied the same victory.

He had visited each of the churches surrounding the gate to hell, and gone over them with a fine tooth comb. In the end, it was the inscription on the revolver that told him everything he needed to know. "Non timebo mala", which means "I will fear no evil." Psalm 23:4.

Dean may not have been a believer in Heaven and it's acolytes, but any doubt Sam may have ever had was vanquished during the course of his research these past years. He may not have seen more angels than he saw unicorns shooting rainbows out of their asses, but he knew there was something at work. Something more powerful than any demon.

This was a fight for good versus evil. For good _over_ evil. Evil would not triumph today.

The day that dawned May 2, 2013 seemed to know what was in store. It was the first sunny morning Sam had seen in what felt like years.

He rose early, packing his saddle bags with only the necessities required for the task at hand and headed out to his bike. Dean had left the Impala to him, but he had decided it was too empty with only one occupant, and had hidden it in a rented storage facility for over four years now. He couldn't bear the thought of selling her, she was really the only physical thing left of his family, but much like his relationship with Bobby, he felt it would be best preserved at a distance. He occasionally stopped in the small, back-woods town where she now resided to check on her and make sure nothing bad befell her, and to change out supplies. Her trunk still made the best place to store anything that he wasn't using at the time.

A motorcycle was a suitable mode of transit for one, now. Sam had never really been a 'motor head', but he had invested quite a bit of time and money into the vehicle that now conveyed him from one side of the country to the other. Because of his height, he had needed to have a special bike manufactured, chopped and lenthened to accomodate his tall frame. Luckily, he had also spent a significant amount of capital on the perfect seat and suspension for the beast, and was not disappointed; rarely was his body ever sore from his extensive travels. It rode with all the comfort of a 'geezer glide', but had the appearance of something akin to Ghost Rider's own bike.

The deep blue bike also had secrets of her own; several hidden compartments among the chrome mountings for the tools of Sam's trade to stow away. So well were they moulded into the form of the bike, if a person were not told of the compartments, even well experienced bikers would not know of their existence.

Before most people had awakened to the new day, Sam was well on his way, flying down Interstate 80 toward Wyoming. His time spent in New Jersey, the home of Samuel Colt, had been well worth the trip, and he had headed west as soon as he had the information he needed, spending last night in Des Moines, Iowa. He was close; close enough to make his whole body tingle with an excitement he was sure he hadn't felt in close to a decade. He chuckled bitterly to himself about that. A decade ago he was a man who thought he didn't need is family...how young and stupid he had been.

As ten o'clock presented itself, Sam pulled off the interstate and headed north. A few miles out of his way, but he needed to do this.

Soon, he pulled up to the rebuilt Harvelle's Roadhouse, in Middle-Of-Nowhere, Nebraska. Planting the kickstand for his chopper, he climbed off the bike and removed his sunglasses and the blood red bandana he wore to keep his hair down while riding, and looked at the building before him. It had been a tough five years for everyone, and the Harvelle's were no different.

Even after the war broke out, Jo stayed out on her own to fight the good fight, which left Ellen to rebuild her life here. She felt it was her responsibility to be the unofficial base of operations for the forces of good, and supplying them with copious amounts of alcohol. The Roadhouse was basically an extension of her own home now, since she had an apartment built above the bar when it was resurrected, and between her own charms and those of the hunters who frequented the place, powerful magic had been used to fortify the Roadhouse from any future attack the demons may wish to stage.

Sam hadn't crossed the threshold of the Roadhouse in several years, for the same reason he didn't stop by Bobby's anymore, but since this may be the last time he would ever see Ellen, and it was on his way, he knew he had to stop and pay his respects.

He brushed a hand quickly over his toussled hair, and pushed the door open.

----------------------

**Author's Note: So?? What do you think?? **

**I use wikipedia a lot...who knew the Colt had an inscription? Also, big fan of my Strong's Concordance/Vine's Dictionary of the Bible. Very handy in a theological pinch.**

**Let me know what you think of Sam's bike. Possible blasphemy for not driving the Impala? **

**"What's a 'geezer glide'," you say? That's what my dad's friend gets teased for riding from all his biker buddies (including my father). It's practically a couch on two wheels! Think 'goldwing'; all fiberglass and cheesy lookin', a bike for an old man (geezer).**

**PLEASE REVIEW!!! THANK YOU!!!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you sticking to it! Welcome to Chapter 3. Special thanks to Ster1, teal-lover, GotTheShining, St0pSmackinMe07, cavetrollgrl, and Poaetpainter for reviewing! Reviews are highly coveted and greatly appreciated, so if you can, please leave me a review! Thank you!!!**

**Disclaimer: I wish I owned Sam and Dean, but I don't. Kripke, Warner Bros, etc are the rightful owners of all involved here. No profit is being made from this fic, it just helps me pass the time until Season 3 starts.**

------------------------------------------------

"Why, Sam Winchester, as I live and breathe," came the husky greeting from the woman in her mid fifties standing behind the bar. Ellen threw down the dish towel she had been using and walked over to meet Sam, forcing him into a hug. "It's been too long, Sam."

Sam returned her hug only lightly, and nodded in acknowledgement as he pulled back. He looked around the bar; there was only one table filled, and it appeared to be a vacationing family with two small children. His thougths lingered briefly on the baby in the high chair with hazel eyes that reminded him of Dean's, he couldn't imagine bringing children into this world, but he was glad there was someone willing to do it.

Sam's reverie was interrupted when Ellen started talking again. "What on earth are you doin' here?" She placed a hand on his arm and pulled him toward a barstool gently, releasing her hold and walking back behind the bar only when she was satisfied he was moving in the right direction.

Sam shrugged as he sat down and propped his arms on the barfront. He looked up into Ellen's eyes as she set a bottle of beer down in front of him. He noticed a long streak of gray hair framing each side of her face that he had never seen before. "Just passin' through," he said, taking a swig of the beer. Then with a meaning he knew Ellen would pick up on, he simply said "I'm headed for Wyoming."

Immediately, the joyous smile dissappeared from Ellen's lips. Her face fell and became hard, and she took a step back from her spot in front of Sam. She glared into Sam's eyes with a look that may have been one of betrayal on anyone else, and shook her head ever so slightly. She swallowed hard, then quietly said "Sam..." The look on her face clearly showed she had something else to say, and was searching for the right words to make it work, but Sam cut her off at the pass.

"I'm not here for your approval, Ellen," he said harshly. "I have to do this."

"No, you don't." Ellen sneered. "You're being selfish. You're gonna go out there and open up a damn gate to Hell, and then you're not even gonna be here to clean up your own mess. And all just because you can't stand being alone." She threw the dish towel down again and put her hand to her forehead.

Sam sat there sulking for a moment before responding. "You're right, I can't stand being alone. But that's not what this is about--"

Ellen propped herself with one hand on the bar, and the other pointing a finger in Sam's face. "Then you tell me. What is this about?"

"You wouldn't understand."

Her eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "Oh, that's right. You're the only one who's ever lost a somebody to the Big Bad in the world. Well, newsflash, Sam. We're _all_ alone; just look around. You, me, Bobby -- all of us. We've all lost people we love." She paused to take a breath, and started again just as Sam was about to retort. "And don't you dare tell me it's because Dean sacrificed himself for you, because every hunter who ever died doing this job sacrificed themselves for someone, whether it be someone they knew, or hundreds of people they didn't--"

"I know how to kill them, Ellen." Sam was weary of her ranting, and decided to end this moot argument. When he saw that Ellen was at a loss for words, he continued. "I found Colt's secret. Yes, I'm going to get Dean. He shouldn't have to suffer eternity in Hell for my sorry ass. But nothing at that gate or in my path lives. Nothing."

Ellen crossed her arms over her chest, swallowing hard again, and blinked away the tears welling in her eyes. She knew that 'nothing' most likely included Sam himself. "Sam...let us help you."

"No. No one else dies." Sam said sternly. He stood and cleared his throat. "Anyway. I just came by to give you these," he laid a key-laden ring on the counter. "Dean's car." Sam brushed his palm against his nose, sniffling a bit. "Just in case, y'know, I thought somebody who knew him should have it. It's at the 'U-Store-It' down in Beatrice. Small one's the key for the lock."

Ellen moved back to Sam's side of the bar, "Sam, please."

Sam ignored her plea and continued, "Rent on the space is paid up until the end of the year, but if you take it out before then, just...just treat her like she's the last living part of my family."

He pulled Ellen into a hug as a tear ran down her cheek and he blinked them away in his own eyes. They stood there holding each other for quite a while.

Eventually, Sam pulled back, sniffed, and said, "I gotta be headin' out. I mailed all my notes to Bobby, he should be able to duplicate it. Y'all 'll be demon-free in no time, and cursin' me 'cuz you're bored." He chuckled lightly, trying to bring some levity to the situation.

Ellen laughed quietly, smiled, and looked Sam in the face again. "You're stubborn, just like your daddy, you know it?"

Sam smiled and nodded as he squeezed her shoulder and turned to the door. "Good bye, Ellen."

"Bye, Sam. You take care of yourself." She watched him push the door open, and then almost as an afterthought, yelled "These keys 'll be right here when you get back!"

Without another word, the door clicked shut behind him.

"Happy birthday," she mumbled under her breath.

----------------------

**Author's Note: Logical? Possibly not, but it's late. The next chapter will be a lot less talking and a lot more doing.**

**PLEASE REVIEW!!! THANK YOU!!!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the delay, the last few days have been spent pouring over about 20 theological texts, Enochian histories, Satanic biographies, Latin dictionaries, etc., trying to come up with a reasonably realistic theory. Now doesn't it sound like I've been having a good time??**

**Thank you for reading! Special thanks to Ster1, cavetrollgrl, Dark Angels Vengeance (both chp 2&3), GotTheShining, Motherlyclucker, snchills, Poaetpainter, St0pSmackinMe07 for reviewing!!**

**Disclaimer: I wish I owned Sam and Dean, but I don't. Kripke, Warner Bros, etc are the rightful owners of all involved here. No profit is being made from this fic, it just helps me pass the time until Season 3 starts.**

------------------------------------------------

The next 400 miles were the longest of Sam's life. His end was eminent; he knew that now.

As he pulled into Wamsutter, WY, he took the exit from the interstate and turned north on a one lane back road that didn't even look like it should be paved that led into the middle of nowhere. The gate to Hell was only a few miles away.

Sam was sad that he couldn't have allowed Bobby and Ellen more creedence in his life, but he had learned long ago that anyone associated with Sam Winchester was in mortal danger. The death toll on his life included his mother, father, girlfriend, Pastor Jim, Caleb, and eventually his only brother, who had sworn repeatedly that no matter what he would be there for Sam and irregardless of any perceived 'curse' on Sam, he, Dean, would not be consumed by it. If only Dean had been right. Sam wasn't about to allow anyone else he cared about to be added to the necromancer's list.

So, he isolated himself, staying as far away from them as possible out of necessity. But he was tired, tired of being alone. He had heard it said that 'no man is an island', though try as he might to accomplish this, he had endured it as long as he was capable and he had made his peace with whatever fate had in store for him this night.

As he crested a low hill, he could see the cemetary laid out before him, with the large crypt bearing the gate to the underworld in a position of prominence in the center.

He remembered the last time he had been here. It was the night the Yellow Eyed Demon had finally made his move, opening the gate and allowing hundreds of demons and other evils to escape from the depths. That night had also ended a 23 year search for absolution in regard to the death of Mary Winchester, Sam and Dean's mother. Dean had shot and killed the Demon that night, with the assistance of what appeared to be the spirit of their father, John Winchester, who may have climbed out of Hell and through the gate just in time to be a part of the one event he had led his whole life trying to accomplish.

Sam wanted to believe with all his heart that it had really been his father that night, but his head just wouldn't let him. Nevertheless, it did give him hope that he could pull Dean from the depths.

Parking his bike just outside the tall iron gates, Sam raised his large form from the 'Marina Blue' machine, quickly taking off his black leather jacket and laying it over the seat. He had a few hours before dark, but he had many things that needed to be accomplished between now and then.

He took a keychain out of his pocket and searched it for the small key that would fit the padlock he had placed on the gates of the cemetary; he couldn't figure any reason the small cemetary would need to be opened, as all the graves were from the early 1800's, and he doubted anyone wanted to visit their relatives at this point. Once the gate had been unchained, Sam retrieved a grimoire and several talismans from one of the saddlebags on the bike, and headed for the crypt.

Once there, Sam traced a large 'Key of Solomon' trap on the concrete foundations of the tomb both above and below the door. If anything should pass him, it would not get very far. Over the past five years, Sam had gotten very good at recreating this symbol, having utilized it in multiple exorcisms.

When both Keys had been completed, Sam retreived the grimoire, most of which he had composed himself from various reference books. He took a talisman out of his pocket, a round piece of pure silver, inscribed with sigils in Greek, Hebrew, and Latin, and placed it before him on the ground and knelt down.

Sam held the grimoire in one hand and began to chant. This mix of the languages of the Bible would extend well into the night, and then Sam would be ready. Ready to open the gate.

----------------------

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry, short chapter, I know. Research is more time consuming than I had planned, and to be perfectly honest, some of the books I'm reading are pretty weirdly interesting...but most of this chapter is b.s. :D**

**PLEASE REVIEW!!! THANK YOU!!!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you for reading! Special thanks to Ster1, ponyperson, nikki98499, teal-lover, yasmine32068, and xanseviera for reviewing!!**

**Disclaimer: I wish I owned Sam and Dean, but I don't. Kripke, Warner Bros, etc are the rightful owners of all involved here. No profit is being made from this fic, it just helps me pass the time until Season 3 starts.**

------------------------------------------------

"_Nos eriperes de potestate diaboli, ab omni hoste visibili et invisibili et ubíque in hoc sáeculo liberetur_." Sam laid the book to the side and reached into his pocket, removing a Medal of the Immaculate Conception of Mary and hanging it around his neck.

"_Ut piisima et Immaculáta caelórum Domina vos prótegat atique defendat_." The medal, if worn by faith, was said to protect the wearer from suffering the eternal flames of Hell. "_Numquam lædatur a morsu antiqui derpentis_," Sam continued.

Sam took out a pot of consecrated olive oil, and began pouring the oil over himself. "_Ego ipse exstinxi omis virtus adversarii, omnis exceritus diaboli, omnis incúrus, omne phatasma Satanæ eradicare, insidiis inimici liberéntur._"

Then, Sam rose from his knees and retrieved a large golden goblet engraved with _Vade Retro, Satana! Nunqum Suade Mihi Vana. Sunt Mala Quae Libas; Ipse Venena Bibas_, which means '_Begone, Satan! Suggest not vain things to me. Evil is the cup thou offerest; Drink thou thine own poison_.' He returned to his place in front of the silver medallion and filled the cup with Holy Water, drinking the entire portion in one gulp.

He placed the cup and the oil sacrament on either side of the talisman and walked back to his motorcycle, pulling a large bag of rock salt from a duffel tied where a passenger might sit. Taking it back over to the makeshift altar, he said a short blessing over the salt and drew a wide arc extending about fifteen feet from the crypt. If the demons on Earth discovered what he was up to, they would try to stop him, and he couldn't spare the attention to watch his back.

The sun had long since set, and his preparations were now complete. Sam walked back to his bike and tucked the grimoire securely back into the saddle bag, and from the duffel he pulled the Colt and a long double edged sword.

Sam had decided the embodiment of the demon's death-nell would be a sword for several reasons. Hebrew 4:12 says "For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart", and Revelation 1:16 says "In his right hand he held seven stars, and out of his mouth came a sharp double-edged sword."

Not to mention, it would be handy when he was surrounded by demons. A pistol would be difficult to weild, and then reload, when engaged in close-quarters combat.

The sword, a beautiful tempered steel blade, was engraved on one side with _Adjutórium nostrum in nómine Dómini, _meaning '_Our help is in the name of the Lord_', the first words of the exorcism blessing of St. Benedict. On the other side, the sword had been inscribed with seven stars, and on each star was the name of one of the Seven Archangels.

Sam's studies into all versions of Enochian history had taught him that the Archangels were the protectors and keepers of humanity, beginning with Uriel, who was over the world and over Tartarus. Since he was planning to enter Tartarus itself, calling on the power of this angel greatly bolstered his spirit. The other stars were Raphael (who ruled over the spirits of men), Raguel (who takes vengeance on the world of the luminaries, i.e. fallen angels/demons), Michael (ruled over chaos), Saraqael (over spirits who sin in the spirit), Gabriel (over Paradise, the serpent, and the Cherubim), and Remiel (whom God set over those who rise). Including the Archangels in the inscriptions and incantations at work this night was the key to killing all evil.

As for the Colt, which had spent it's last bullet the night Dean killed the Yellow Eyed Demon, Sam had called in many favors and spent a great deal of money to find and obtain a diary that Samuel Colt had kept between 1831 and 1837. From that text, he had been able to gleam the procedure for casting the bullets capable of the holy task required of them. He now had an entire belt full of the 'magical' bullets.

Sam pulled the belt and holster from the duffel, and buckled it around his thin waist. He shoved the Colt into it's leather sheath on his right, and tucked the blade into the belt on his left. The final item he pulled from the bag was a short wrought iron dagger in a nylon sheath with straps that allowed him to attach it to his left calf. Though the dagger was consecrated and made of pure iron, which repelled demons, it alone would not be sufficient to incapacitate or kill a demon, but might be useful.

He finished tightening the dagger to his leg, then walked back to the crypt, took out the Colt and pushed it into the tiny hole at the center of the large doors. He stepped back, watching as the locking mechanism began to spin.

---------------

Going far faster than any speed limit would have allowed, Bobby looked at his instrument panel, thankful that there did not seem to be any cops out and about tonight on the Wyoming interstate. He looked at the clock in the dash with a half crazed look in his eye, then up at Ellen, sitting in the passenger seat.

"Do you think we'll make it?" she asked, worriedly.

Before he answered, Bobby glimpsed the exit sign for Wamsutter reflecting in his headlights not far ahead. "We'll make it," Bobby said resolutely. If only he truly believed it himself...

----------------------

**Author's Note: The Latin is real, but do not attempt to enter a gate to Hell at home.**

**PLEASE REVIEW!!! THANK YOU!!!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you for reading! Special thanks to Ster1, tennischik09, RedDragen, Elliesmeow, St0pSmackinMe07, JaggerK, teal-lover, Alienmom, Dark Angels Vengeance, and lekelly for reviewing!!**

**Disclaimer: I wish I owned Sam and Dean, but I don't. Kripke, Warner Bros, etc are the rightful owners of all involved here. No profit is being made from this fic, it just helps me pass the time until Season 3 starts.**

------------------------------------------------

The mechanism clanked to a halt, inner and outer rings aligning to form a pentagram.

Sam retrieved the Colt from the keyhole, then stepped back and drew his blade, readying himself for battle. He knew that the demons had not planned this breach into the depths of Hell, meaning there shouldn't be an army waiting for him on the other side of that gate. With that taken into account, Sam hoped this would be easier than it sounded, but had learned long ago not to rely on hopes.

After all, his plan _was_ to march into Hell.

Dripping from head to toe in consecrated olive oil, and still full from the Holy Water he had imbibed, he swallowed hard and gripped the handle of the broadsword in sweaty palms. He was as ready as any human could be.

The doors of the gate ratchetted open slowly.

And nothing happened. As expected, there was no surge of demon smoke issuing from the gaping maw of the Underworld. Grateful as he was for that fact, it unnerved him slightly, for not only was there not a vast queue of evil waiting to escape -- there was nothing at all.

Sam moved forward slowly, carefully to the threshold. He reached forward and drew the door open wider with his left hand, his right still tightly holding the handle of the blade. As he placed one foot into the doorway, Sam saw the culprit, the reason he hadn't had a welcoming party. The centry, the demon positioned to watch the doorway and alert all others were any circumstances to change, lie convulsing on the steps leading up to the gate.

His face contorted, puzzled. _Huh_, Sam thought. One of the first prayers he had completed while making his preparations outside the crypt was said to paralyze demons of a certain ilk within the sound of the speakers voice. Sam had thought the incantation would have only worked on the earthly plane, but was glad to see he had been wrong. If the centry had warned others, Sam would have been swarmed in the blink of an eye.

Leaning down over the demon, looking into it's black eyes, he drew his blade coldly across it's throat, cutting a deep gash. _Good to know this works_, Sam thought, as he watched the realization dawn in the demon's eyes and terror fill them. An electrical jolt seemed to course through the creature, and soon it dissolved into a wisp of white smoke. There could be no mistake, the demon was no more.

Sam stood, looking over his weapon. There wasn't the slightest trace of evidence on the blade to indicate what had just happened. "Cool," he murmured to himself.

Then he heard it, a low rumbling growl approaching from behind him. Sam did not dilude himself into thinking that he wouldn't be a target for those earthbound evils wanting access to the underworld and all the increased numbers that would mean for their army, though he hadn't expected their arrival to be quite this early in his operation.

Sam cautiously moved back to the gate. The blessed salt and Devil's Traps should stop any full demon, but if any of them had the power to control humans the way the Yellow Eyed Demon did, Sam could be in real trouble.

Ducking down, he watched the horizon for any sign of the source of the disturbance. Soon, he saw headlights in the distance, and knowing that this road dead ends at the cemetary, he knew the visitors, human or not, were for him.

He rose to greet his guests, walking back out of the crypt to stand just past where the Key of Solomon ended.

An old blue tow truck rumbled to a halt beside Sam's bike, and his heart sank as he realized the two people he had most tried to protect had come blundering into the middle of the most deadly of situations. Sam stabbed his blade angrily into the dirt and walked purposefully toward the truck.

"Turn around!" He demanded, pointing toward the direction from which they had come, and not waiting for any pleasantries. "Go home, Bobby, and take Ellen with you. This is _my_ fight, I don't want you here!" He scowled at Ellen, who met his gaze then looked away silently, as she and Bobby climbed out of the rusty pickup and slammed the doors.

Bobby strode quickly forward and grabbed Sam's shirt with both hands. "Damn it, Sam," he yelled angrily, with a hint of pleading in his tone, "Don't you realize you can't do this alone?! Let us help you! We _both _consider you family, for God's sake."

Sam clenched his jaw. "I won't lose anymore family here. Not for this. Not at the hand of a demon."

Bobby shoved him back. "Neither will I. Now, don't be a damn stubborn Winchester, and give us a hand." He turned and walked back to his truck, where Ellen had already busied herself pulling supplies from the bed. She handed him what appeared to be a long piece of junk-metal cut with an oxygen-acetaline torch and run briefly over a grinder, and strapped one to herself as well. Makeshift iron swords, Sam realized.

For his part, Bobby pulled two large hard-plastic backpacks from behind the cab. When he saw the confused, yet still angry, look on Sam's face he explained. "Flame throwers -- retrofitted to carry Holy Water instead of jet fuel. I'd been tinkerin' with the idea for a while, now, but demandin' times call for...shit to get done." He bent his knees and hoisted one of the packs onto his back, then turned to help Ellen with hers.

If the situation hadn't been so dire, Sam could have laughed at the sight of the two people before him. They resembled the bargain-basement version of the Ghostbusters.

Bobby saw the smirk on Sam's face. "Sorry I couldn't get a third one for ya. My buddy from 'Nam only had the two."

Sam smiled for the first time in a long time. They may be foolhardy, but at least they were sincere and loyal. "No, I'm good. Really."

"So, Hotshot," Ellen called, buckling her flame thrower's harness, "You were just going to charge in like it was Custer's Last Stand, huh?"

----------------------

**Author's Note: **

**Sorry guys, no updates for a while, I'm off to Texas for the rest of the week, be back 08/20/07. I'll be writing, and I can briefly check my email (and reviews for incentive) but won't be able to post, so **_**please**_** make my day and send me some encouragement! I'm 'the blonde chick on **_**the Munsters**_**' when it comes to visiting my family, so I'll be writing to escape the madness this week.**

**PLEASE REVIEW!!! THANK YOU!!!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you for reading! Special thanks to tennischik09, RedDragen, Elliesmeow, St0pSmackinMe07, GotTheShining, yasmine32068, mikiss, Strange Apparition, teal-lover, ponyperson, and Marthienessx3 for reviewing!!**

**Disclaimer: I wish I owned Sam and Dean, but I don't. Kripke, Warner Bros, etc are the rightful owners of all involved here. No profit is being made from this fic, it just helps me pass the time until Season 3 starts.**

------------------------------------------------

Sam didn't want to chance closing the gate just to reopen it again in a few minutes, since it was not a quiet process, so he quickly instructed Bobby and Ellen on the prayer to Yahweh he had used to incapacitate nearby demons.

"So there's no way we can talk you out of this?" Ellen said, as she inscribed the Archangels' names on her cut-iron weapon with chalk.

He closed his eyes and bowed his head, then looked back up into her eyes. "No. Dean is suffering. I know he is...and I won't let him go through that for all eternity because of me. I can't. Not when I can do something about it."

"Well, then," Bobby said, draping a crucifix around his neck, "We'd better get a move on. They're bound t' check this gate eventually, centry or no centry, and when they do we'll be busier than -- than Dean at a bar on 'ladies night'."

Sam smiled a tired, half crooked smile at the reference to one of the more interesting qualities of the brother he missed so dearly, then stood from his perch on the bike and picked up the container of consecrated oil. "I don't have much of this left, but spread it over you as well as you can, and drink some Holy Water. That should help keep the demons back a few feet. They hate this stuff."

He pulled his sword from the ground where he had planted it in anger a few minutes before, and returned it to it's sheath. "Obviously we can't take on the whole of Hell, so we'll try to get as far as we can undetected."

Bobby nodded as he pulled another bag of salt from the bed of his truck. "I'll put a line or two of salt behind us every now and then. Should give us somewhere to fall back to if things get bad."

"Good." Sam looked back and forth between Bobby and Ellen, then, very sincerely, said, "Thank you."

Acknowledging his thanks with a slight nod, Ellen smiled and said, "Let's do this," She picked up the spray-wand of the flame thrower, holding it at the ready. Sam was sure that if it had been a shotgun, she would have jacked a shell into the chamber just then, if only for effect.

The three hunters crossed the threshold into the crypt silently, not closing the gate behind them because their exit would most likely require speed over anything else, and the mechanism simply took too long to release.

The inside of Hell was much like something you would see in the movies; the walls seemed to be made of rotting flesh oozing blood, an unearthly fire lit their path from somewhere unseen, and of course, it was incredibly hot. Sam wondered if the Hell he was seeing was it's true form, or simply his perception of it, as he had learned that on the spiritual plane viewpoint and perception was not set in stone. If it was simply his imagination, he hoped that the narrowness of the tunnel and the walls on either side at least proved to be true and that they weren't silently being flanked by the enemy.

"Look out!" Ellen whispered, motioning to something ahead.

When he looked where she was pointing, he noticed two black creatures that seemed to have a thousand limbs ending in razor sharp talons digging at something lying on the ground, making a strange 'hooting' noise.

Sam put his hand up to tell Bobby and Ellen to let him go ahead. He ducked down, sneaking quickly toward the hideous beasts with his sword drawn.

He took the first one by surprise, slashing it's full body length from behind with no warning. Watching the first disintegrate, the second seemed stunned only briefly, and then leapt at Sam with every talon bared. Sam, to the credit of the man who he had recently taken sword-fighting lessons from, turned swiftly and effortlessly struck the creature with a backhand, much like the maneuver of the same name in the game of tennis.

The beast let out an unholy scream, and evaporated into nothingness. The scream had taken Sam a bit by surprise, as it was the first demon he had killed which had made any noise at all. He hoped the scream would not be an unusual occurence for Hell, and if it had been heard, that it would not draw attention.

He looked back to where Bobby and Ellen were waiting around a curve in the tunnel and motioned them forward. As they emerged from their hiding place, Sam heard a faint noise at his feet, and instinctively pointed his sword at the disturbance.

"Oh, my God," he said, kneeling down. On the ground before him was what he could only imagine at one time to have been the soul of a human. It appeared to be human, but was naked and torn to shreds. A look of sheer terror seemed to be fixed upon the man's face.

Sam reached down to touch the head, and the man shrunk away, a result of being either beaten or clawed each time anything came near for too long. It was impossible to tell how long this poor tortured creature had been interned here; months, years, perhaps even millennium. But Sam could not help but feel a pang of fear that they would find Dean in a condition similar to this, and he could not bear the thought.

As Bobby and Ellen looked on mournfully, Sam knelt beside the man. "If you can hear me...If you can _understand_ me..." he whispered, "Go _that way_." He pointed fervently, trying to get through to the glassy eyed creature. "There is a way out."

"Sam," Bobby said softly, "I don't know if that's such a good idea. We don't know why he was sent to Hell...he could be a mass murderer..."

"Or he was a good man who made a couple bad choices!" Sam shot back with more of an edge than he had intended. He took a breath and continued more softly, "Either way, I don't think he's going to be much harm to anyone in this condition, Bobby."

Bobby exchanged worried looks with Ellen, but did not impede Sam's decision. "We should be movin' on."

Sam pulled away from the tortured soul and stood, but as he took a step, he faltered and fell to his knees, blood pooling on the ground near him.

----------------------

**Author's Note: I know, I'm mean. And now, stay tuned for these important messages from our sponsors. **

**Trip to TX was good - thank you for your patience! For those of you who asked, I visited the Panhandle of the Great State, just northeast of Amarillo.**

**PLEASE REVIEW!!! THANK YOU!!!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the reviews! They are like crack to my review addiction!! And thank you to everyone who is silently reading and has stuck with me this far! Special thanks to Strange Apparition, darwin12, cavetrollgrl, teal-lover, Elliesmeow, lekelly (both chapter 6&7), tennischik09, RedDragen, fairyofmusic, yasmine32068, pinkphoenix1985, and snchills for reviewing!!**

**Disclaimer: I wish I owned Sam and Dean, but I don't. Kripke, Warner Bros, etc are the rightful owners of all involved here. No profit is being made from this fic, it just helps me pass the time until Season 3 starts.**

------------------------------------------------

"Damn it!" he said. He looked down at his left arm; there was blood streaming from a cut through his sleeve. He swayed on his knees and fell to his right, causing him to toss his sword away to catch himself with his right arm in time to prevent further injury, redirecting himself into a sitting position.

As Bobby kept watch for any approaching trouble, Ellen quickly dropped the wand for the flame thrower and knelt beside him, examining the wound. "Are you dizzy?"

Sam nodded.

"Well, it's just a bad scratch, really," she said, ripping off the sleeve of her shirt. "But since you're dizzy, I'm guessing those talons were poisonous." She retrieved the nozzle for the flame thrower and wetted the ripped cloth with the Holy Water. Patting the wound clean gently, the cut began to hiss and boil violently.

Sam stifled a scream at the pain, opting for a guttural growl instead, while squeezing his eyes tightly shut and clenching his jaw. He made a fist with his right hand and pounded the ground.

A moment later the searing of his flesh had subsided. Ellen took the cloth and tied it around his forearm as a bandage.

"Come on," she stood and offered a hand to help him to his feet. "We can't stay here."

Bobby looked Sam over and noted the sweat on his brow. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded again, "I think so." He retrieved the sword from the place it had landed haphazardly on the ground and removed a hip flask from his pocket, taking a long swig.

"Whiskey?" Ellen asked, knowing Sam's recent drinking habits.

"Holy Water." He held the flask out for her to take, and she accepted.

Once she had returned the flask to Sam, they carefully continued down the corridor. Around the next bend the tunnel seemed to end abruptly, opening like the delta of a great river into the ocean.

Before them lay a vast expanse, broken only by yawning pits of fire, and the occasional boulder, which seemed to be scattered about without rhyme or reason, issued from some unseen source. Either this chamber's ceiling was incredibly high and unseen in the dim firelight, or there was no ceiling at all. Perhaps the tunnel was just a bridge between two completely separate planes. _Or even dimensions?_ Sam thought.

"Oh, Hell." Bobby mumbled under his breath. "Sam, I don't think there's any way we're gonna make it across this without gettin' caught."

Sam did not respond, just started walking, jaw clenched and sword raised to the ready.

Bobby cursed silently as he laid two thick lines of salt all the way across the end of the tunnel, then and Ellen followed Sam at a close distance, both watching behind them for any attackers that may cut off their retreat.

A few moments later, they had walked far enough they could no longer see the tunnel. Their path had been reasonably straight, though they had detoured around several flame-spewing potholes. Ellen was certain she wouldn't be able to retrace their exact course, and she was becoming unnerved the mysterious absence of demons on their trek.

"Sam," Ellen started gently, knowing all too well how much of Sam's temper had been inherited from his father. "How are we going to find our way back?"

He stopped, looking back toward the tunnel, his face falling as the realization dawned of just how far they had already come. He laughed a sad, ironic laugh to himself. "Where are all the Peanut M&M's when you need them?" he said softly.

"What?"

"Nothin'," he sighed. "...Bobby, how much salt do you have left?"

Bobby held up the depleted bag. "Not near enough--"

"_Help me_!"

Sam held up a hand to silence Bobby, and then turned, looking from side to side, attempting to determine where the voice had come from. "Did you hear that?" He asked in a rushed whisper.

Bobby and Ellen nodded but said nothing, listening.

"_Heeelllp_!" came the voice again.

This time Sam had been able to see its source. In the distance, he saw two hands clinging to the edge of one of the pits of fire, and started running toward it.

Sliding to a stop on his knees right in front of the woman, he threw out a hand to her. "Grab hold of my hand!"

She reached for his hand, able to grip it only by the fingertips. He reached down with his other hand, grabbing her wrist and hoisting her to the solid ground forcefully, a strained grunt escaping his lips. "Are you okay?" he said, panting.

"Ha!" The woman, clad in a short, dirty white linen dress, laughed and climbed off of Sam. "I'm still in Hell, aren't I?"

Sam sat up and brushed himself off, smiling wryly. "Yeah."

"Thank you." She said, brushing herself off. "So what are you 'in' for?"

Getting to his feet, Sam looked at the woman and just shrugged and shook his head, not wanting to show all his cards. "You?"

She smirked. "I fell out of favor with the Big Guy upstairs, I guess." She stuck out her hand, "I'm Sedah."

He took her dainty hand in his own. "Sam. And this is Ellen, and Bobby." He indicated them respectively.

"Pardon me, Miss," Bobby spoke up, "But we're new. Could you tell us how to find our way around?"

Sedah looked at them appraisingly. "You're sure carrying a lot of 'worldly possessions' to have gotten here the old fashioned way...and usually, new or not, you are put in your place right away, no need to be told your way around. By this point you should be screaming and crying for your mommies." She backed away from them slowly. "Who are you?"

Ellen casually arranged her flame thrower to be directed at Sedah, but said nothing, looking to Sam.

"We're looking for my brother. Dean Winchester."

She shook her head, a frightened look on her face. "No, you can't be here...You're not supposed to be here. This isn't your realm. You should go now, they're gonna come for you." She started backing away more quickly.

"Wait! Please!" Sam called. "Just tell us how to find my brother!"

Then, without any warning, Bobby fired a blast of Holy Water from his flame thrower, hitting Sedah in the stomach and knocking her to the ground as she tried to turn away.

"Bobby! What are you doing?!" Sam ran forward to her aid.

"Sedah." Bobby said, jogging forward behind Sam. "S-E-D-A-H. That's _Hades_ spelled backwards! She's not as innocent as she seems."

When Sam reached Sedah, he saw that the spot the water had struck was indeed steaming, and her eyes were pitch black. She stood, without Sam's assistance, rolled her head around as if getting a crick out of her neck, sighed, then fixed the trio with the most evil of stares.

On every side, creatures materialized out of black smoke.

"Very good, Mr. Singer," she said. "I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out. You know, I've been watching you three since Sam first knocked on my door." She moved closer to Sam, but he pulled his sword out and leveled it at her.

"Aw," she pouted and came even closer. "What a pretty new toy you've got. But I've got news for you. You might be able to eradicate my minions, but Gabriel and that lot were all friends of mine, and their names carved on some cheap Excalibur knock-off isn't going to do me any harm. _I _have_ personally _tasted the fruit of the Tree of Life." She licked her lips seductively. "_Delicious_."

He looked at her, lip curled in disgust, but remained silent. Bobby and Ellen kept their flame throwers at the ready, and eyed the throngs of evil beasts surrounding them.

"Face it, Sam. The world has to have balance. Haven't you ever heard the term 'necessary evil'? I'm yin to your yang. But I, unlike you, will be around for ever."

Sam lowered his sword. "So what now?"

"That's better. Now we can have a civil conversation." She put a hand on his shoulder and drug it along his back as she walked around behind him and returned to the front. She stopped in front of him and sighed. "I'll make you a deal. If you can get to Dean...you can have him. Mind, body, and soul, _if you still want him _-- and go on your merry way. That is, _if_ you can get to Dean."

He stared at her, clenching and unclenching his jaw. An undeveloped thought rolling around in the back of his mind about what she had meant by 'if you still want him', then he cocked his head to one side. "And the catch?"

"Never, _ever_, darken my doorstep again." She said severely. "I. Don't. Care. _Who_ gets into some stupid predicament and shipped off to my playground. Your 'Get Out of Hell Free' Monopoly card has just been spent. No more barging into my home just because you think you can get away with it...gives my mutts wrong ideas. Makes more work for me."

A puzzled look crossed his face and he licked his lips and swallowed. "Uh...okay...?"

"I know," she rolled her eyes. "You think you're getting off easy. I have my ulterior motives for not requiring more of you. The thing is, in the yin/yang way of life, sometimes _your_ work comes in very handy. Demons _are _supposed to stay in Hell, after all." She made a sour face and continued grudgingly, "..._And_, though it pains me to admit it, _you_ are good at your job."

"Alright. Deal." Sam said.

She smiled a cruel smile and began to fade into a mist. "Then you'd better get your sword back out... You've got a long way to go..."

As Satan disappeared completely, the hoard of demons surrounding them began to inch closer.

----------------------

**Author's Note: There you have it. Longer chapter.**

**Sorry I haven't been able to respond to you guys personally, I've been busy catching back up, and my home computer has decided it doesn't want to let me log in anymore. Hope you are enjoying the story! **

**BTW - Cliffhangers are an important part of storytelling! They keep your readers wanting more more MORE!! evil grin**

**Will work for reviews :-)**

**PLEASE REVIEW!!! THANK YOU!!!**


	9. Chapter 9

**First and foremost, this has been bugging me. In the last chapter I used the word 'hoard'. What I really meant was 'horde'. I'm sure there are other mistakes, but that one was just carelessness on my part, and I'm a little anal about it...**

**Thank you again and again for the reviews! And thank you to everyone who is silently reading and has stuck with me for yet another chapter! Special thanks to pinkphoenix1985, JaggerK, lekelly, RedDragen, Strange Apparition, St0pSmackinMe07, Elliesmeow, fairyofmusic, XxCrash.And.BurnXx, ponyperson, GotTheShining, and teal-lover for reviewing!!**

**Disclaimer: you should all know it by heart by now.**

------------------------------------------------

"Run!" Ellen yelled as the demon nearest her swiped a claw toward the spray wand. In retaliation, she sprayed it directly in it's face, causing it to collapse to the floor, shreaking in pain. They had been fighting the mass of creatures for several minutes and making very little progress.

Bobby was holding his own, alternating between use of the flame thrower and the iron sword. The runes marked on the iron had worked their magic, and both his and Ellen's swords were just as deadly to the beasts as Sam's. Sam, to his credit, was swinging expertly at every oncommer, but the **horde** (;-D) seemed never ending.

"Enough!" he yelled, reaching forward and grabbing the demon attacking him by the throat with his oil-soaked hand. Smoke issued from beneath his hand where the consecrated oil made contact with the creature. He held the sword to what might be considered the creature's neck.

"You all know what these swords can do." He said fiercely. "Do you _all_ want to die?"

Sam, Bobby, and Ellen were back to back, protecting each other. The onslaught had temporarily subsided, but the beasts were elbowing each other and pulsing with anticipation of their kill.

"Take me to Dean!" Sam demanded of the demon in his grip.

The hellhound squirmed. "_You'll never reach him alive..._" it said in a whispy voice.

"Well, where there's life, there's hope. Right?" Sam smirked, shoving the creature forward.

They moved cohesively in the direction the demon indicated, Bobby and Ellen's backsides never more than a few inches from each others, or Sam's, for over an hour. Occasionally, small groups from the surrounding crowd would venture forward and be cut down, causing the rest to rethink the strategy until their smoke-filled brains would inevitibly forget again. Sometimes their attack varied, the demons converging on them from multiple sides or from above, but were always fought back.

After a long, arduous trek in this manner, they began to decend into one of the pits; luckily, this one was not flaming.

Once their decent had levelled, the hunters could see the new venue was a cavern with hundreds of alcoves sealed off with bars made from bones, which reminded Sam much of the dungeons in the castles he had seen in some of the old movies Dean forced him to watch when they were kids. Looking into one of the alcoves he noticed that there were people in them, just like a prison.

The demon horde was pacing them; following along as though they wanted to attack, but still wary from their last attempt. In various locations around the dark cavern, approximately every six cells, they could see huge beastly demons, much larger than the ones that were flanking them. The large beasts were adorned with huge metal weapons that seemed to be covered in dried blood, and appeared very sharp. Sam silently hoped he wouldn't be forced to engage these brutal-looking creatures, and to his pleasure, they seemed to be ignoring the new arrivals in the cavern.

"_This is where the real hard cases are kept..._" the demon said menacingly as Sam dragged it along by the throat. "_Those are the Choronzon... the torturers..._"

Sam looked to his right at the nearest monster, and dread filled his heart. The creature was currently using a limp human body as a pile-driver. It was the cruelest looking being he had ever seen or imagined in his most heinous nightmares, and considering his childhood, that was a feat of some measure. These were the creatures in whose care Dean had been kept for the last five years; the thought made Sam shudder. "Where are they keeping him?" He demanded, shaking his captive slightly.

"_Keep walking, _human" the demon sneered. "_You've long to go yet..._"

Eventually they came to the end of the cavern, to the very last cell in this gruesome prison, which had bars of metal instead of bone. It was the darkest point in the dungeon. In front of this cell were positioned three Choronzon side by side, unmoving.

"So, you've done it," the feminine incarnation of Beelzebub said, materializing beside Sam, dressed now in a blood red gown with a plunging neckline. "You can let him go now, they've done their job. _And failed miserably,_" she added, fixing the horde with a terrible look, indicating that there would be repercussions to that failure.

As Sam released his hostage, he noticed that one by one the vast army disappeared; each had a cruel grin of sheer hate showing on it's disfigured face just before fading out. "Them too?" he asked, motioning to the Choronzon.

"No," she said casually, shaking her head. "No, they will stay here, but they will not impede you. Your brother has been quite a handful since he's been here." With that, the beasts parted to reveal the gate into the tiny oriface. "This should be fun."

The largest demon reached for the gate, which seemed to magically unlatch as the clawed extremity touched it. Pulling it back, he motioned for Sam to enter.

He moved forward slowly. He couldn't believe it. This was it. What he had waited and worked so long for. His brother was just on the other side of that gate. His eyes began to water and he blinked the tears away.

"Oh, Tooo Day! Hurry up. I haven't got all eternity." Sedah complained.

Sam gave her a frustrated look, then crouched to allow his lanky frame through the small opening, and entered almost at a hands and knees position. Sedah followed him into the alcove, but Bobby and Ellen stayed outside, flame throwers pointed at the imposing Choronzon.

It was very dark in the cell, and Sam's eyes struggled to adjust. He could not clearly make out what was in front of him, and stumbled over something on the ground. He reached down, pawing blindly for what had tripped him.

Flesh! His hand touched flesh. Shocked, Sam pulled back his hand as though he had touched something scalding hot.

"Dean..." Sam whispered, his breath caught in his throat.

"Deeean," Sedah said in a sing-song voice. "I have a surprise for you."

Sam heard a grunt from somewhere in the dark.

"Dean," she said again, "Your brother, Sam, is here now." Her smile made apparent by the pleased tone in her voice.

In the dark, Sam heard a soft weeping. "No... Sammy...? No... Sammy...no...no...!" the weeping continued. "He can't be here! That's why I'm here! You leave him alone you son of a bitch!"

"No, Dean," Sam said firmly. "I'm came to get you."

There was a rustling in the dark, but Sam could not tell what was happening. "You leave him alone!" Dean repeated. "Or put me back together and I swear I'll tear you to shreds!"

_Put him back together?_ Sam thought, but tried to get Dean to respond to him again. "Dean! _I'm here to get you_. We're going home. Together."

"Oh, honey, he can't hear you." Sedah said playfully. "This is Hell. Inmates aren't allowed anything pleasurable, and you, my friend, would be a very happy sight for sore eyes...that is, you _would be_, if he still had eyes. His mind can't even fathom that a rescue is possible, so he thinks you've died and went to Hell."

Sam only picked up on one thing she had said. "So that's what he mean's by 'put him back together'...you took his eyes??" Sam felt nauseous at the thought of his big brother's eyes being ripped out. He was furious, and was barely containing the urge to run his sword through Sedah just for the fun of it.

She laughed sadistically, Dean still weeping in the background. "No. What he really wants are his arms. And his legs. Oh...and maybe his hands and feet... You see, that's the thing about Hell. Ripping him limb from limb doesn't kill him...and we can put him back together and do it as many excruciating times as we want. Makes for a fun game of tug-o-war for my Choronzons...see which joint's going to come apart first...and second..." She smiled at the memory.

"You evil bitch..." Sam said in a low voice, his mind was reeling, and his stomach churning.

"Ha! Haven't you been paying attention? How many times must I tell you? This is Hell!" She laughed. "And thank you for the compliment. Truth be told, it wouldn't have been like this for Dean if he hadn't been such a pain in _my_ ass. He's dismembered plenty of things himself, since he's been here. We had to take him apart and put him in here just to keep him out of trouble. And I still had to put three damn guards at the gate. He's very persistent."

Sam just sat there in disbelief, his body quivering in anger at what had been done to his brother.

"So," Sedah continued. "Still want him?"

"_Yes,_" he said vehemently.

"Well, good!" Sedah said brightly. "I think we have a wheelbarrow around here somewhere. We'll package him 'to-go'."

Sam had reached his tipping point. He pulled the Colt from it's holster and aimed toward Sedah in the dark, cocking the gun. "Put him back together," he said harshly.

Sedah sighed heavily. "Put your silly gun away. Or fire. Either way, it's as useless to you as that tin pig-sticker you've got." She clapped her hands together and the chamber flooded with light.

Sam gasped at the sight before him. Dean was lying in the floor literally in pieces; hands, feet, arms, legs...entrails...were all strewn about carelessly. His head was still attached to his mutilated torso, but as the devil had said, his eyes were missing from their sockets and looked as though they had been clawed out, leaving gaping, bloody, lid-less holes in what had once been a very handsome facade. Every place his body had been separated was covered with maggots and rats, gnawing at his fetid corpse, and each location was bleeding as if the cut were fresh. His torso and neck had barbed wire wrapped tightly around it, not only bleeding where the barbs dug deep into his flesh, but over the entire length of the wire due to how tightly it was bound. Sam could see scars from whip lashes and from where white-hot pokers had been applied. Dean still wept, mostly moaning "no...Sammy...no..."

"Oh, my God," Sam cried as he took it all in, tears streaming down his face. "Dean, I am so sorry..." He placed a hand to the side of Dean's head, Dean winced at the touch from something unseen, causing the wire cut around his neck to seep anew. Sam looked up at Sedah hatefully, "Why??"

She rolled her eyes. "It ain't Club Med, kid." She picked up Dean's dismembered right hand, letting it flop limply back and forth in her hands. "You know, we tried the 'mental torture' way first, giving him nightmares about you becoming evil or dead, messing with his head; but he never fell for it. He must really think highly of you... So, we went for pain, instead. Did you know he _really_ hates rats?" She said, grinning proudly and tossing the hand back toward the broken body on the ground. "Now get off him and let me get this over with."

He pulled back, eyes never leaving the evil incarnate.

She simply looked at Dean and blinked.

Sam looked back to his tortured brother and stiffled a sob; Dean was now lying whole, naked, and unconscious.

"Take him and go." Sedah said with a scowl on her face. "You won't be bothered. Don't look back."

----------------------

**Author's Note: You know, I wonder how much Hollywood has really shaped the way we see our surroundings and life...and death...**

**Sorry, no spell-check on this chapter. Don't hate me.**

**PLEASE REVIEW!!! PLEASE REVIEW!!! PLEASE REVIEW!!! THANK YOU!!!**


	10. Chapter 10

**This is a short chapter. My brain is still recovering from Chapter 9, so my apologies to those whom it will only take thirty seconds to get through this. I thought you'd want an update sooner than later. Sorry there wasn't a warning for the gore in the last chapter. No gore this chapter.**

**Thank you for coming back after that. Thanks to reviewers Elliesmeow, cavetrollgrl, tennischik09, lekelly, GotTheShining, Amanda, teal-lover, XxCrash.And.BurnXx, ponyperson, JaggerK, snchills, Alienmom, RedDragen, MacCartney, fairyofmusic, pandora jazz, pinkphoenix1985, and St0pSmackinMe07 for your helpful insights and praise.**

**Disclaimer: see Chp 1.**

------------------------------------------------

Sam gently, tenderly lifted the limp form of his big brother, taking care to keep from either slamming his head into the alcove's low ceiling or from dragging Dean on the hard ground. It couldn't be helped, though. Sam was simply too tall to fit in the confined area, and opted for running his head painfully along the rough ceiling to prevent any possible further damage to his brother. Slowly, Sam managed to free himself of the prison cell, gingerly cradling Dean's prone body in his arms.

As the brothers emerged, Ellen let out an audible gasp and drew her hand to her mouth. Bobby threw off his flame thrower and rushed forward to help support the weight of Dean. Together, Sam and Bobby lowered him to the ground. Ellen dropped her flame thrower and stripped off her jacket, rolling it up and lifting Dean's head to place it as a pillow.

"My God..." she whispered as she looked at the scars completely covering his body. She reached down and ran her fingers lightly over one, which looked rather deep and would have been extremely painful to obtain, that ran from his left shoulder to below his ribcage on the right side of his chest. Dean winced again, but did not regain consciousness.

Sam knelt beside his brother, a small drop of blood running down his face from a cut he had received from the cell's ceiling. He pulled the flask from his back pocket and unscrewed the metal cap, then he gently put a hand under Dean's neck and tilted his head forward to allow him to drink the water. As he poured a tiny amount of water into Dean's slack mouth, Dean choked and sputtered the water back out, as though it were unwanted.

Bobby shook his head. "He dudn't know what's goin' on, Sam. He probly thinks you're one o' those creatures, tryin'a poison 'im," he said balefully.

Sam nodded sadly, then reached to pull his t-shirt off. "Wet this down, please," he said, handing the shirt to Ellen. She quickly did as he said, pouring water from the tank on the flame thrower into the cloth, then handed it back to Sam. He took the wet cloth and lightly drew it across Dean's forehead, gingerly removing a portion of the grime and dried blood that covered his whole body.

Taking the wet shirt, he draped it over Dean's midsection, to allow him at least some modicum of modesty when he did come to. He had suffered enough, Sam did not want to add embarassment to the list of wrongs that had been heaped upon him.

"Let's get him out of here," Sam said, reaching to lift Dean under his knees and behind his back.

There Sam stood, in the middle of Hell, stripped to his waist, armed with a 1835 Colt and a double edged sword, carrying his naked, unconscious brother, and flanked by the bargain-basement ghostbusters with Holy Water flame throwers. He would have laughed if it hadn't been real, though he was silently grateful that this wasn't some horrible scene from one of those cheesy sci-fi genre Thursday night TV shows that Dean used to watch. He just remembered a conversation they had several years before. _Our lives are weird, man..._

And so they marched. They exited the dungeon-like cavern and emerged back on the plain of boulders and firepits. It was not difficult to tell what their path was; the demon horde had been kind enough to leave a trail of footprints and debris that clearly indicated the point of their origin.

The demons had come to see them off; frequently they saw the creatures staring at them from the pits or from behind the boulders. Apparently Sedah had been truthful when she said nothing would bother them, for which they were all grateful, but not altogether trusting. Bobby and Ellen were well prepared to deal with any attacker, and the fierceness Sam saw in their eyes told him they had not come this far to fail now, and they were _not_ going to fail Dean, especially after they had seen what he had been through.

Sam did notice that the closer they got to the exit, the fewer scars he was able to make out on Dean's chest. He wondered if it was simply that they would all heal and disappear with time, since obviously they ripped people to shreds frequently here, then put them back together, and there had to be some supernatural healing factor involved in that, or if it was their proximity to the natural world. By the time they crossed the salt lines at the entrance to the tunnel, most of the scars had vanished.

Sam's arms were beginning to feel like jelly after carrying Dean's limp body for so long, and his legs were tired, though there was no way he was going to put him down or stop. He owed it to Dean to get him out of there as quickly as possible, and with as little jostling as absolutely necessary.

Eventually the group passed the tortured soul in the tunnel, still where they had left it, and made it to the gate. Bobby went through the doorway first, pushing the doors wide open and skewering two demons that had been caught in the Key of Solomon.

It was still dark, and a storm had moved in. The sky alight, arching with lightning; the still night air pierced by the sound of rolling thunder. Sam thought it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

"Dean," Sam said lovingly, laying him on the soft grassy ground. "Dean, you're alive."

Dean lay there with his eyes closed for several minutes, as the three hunters attended to him, washing his body clean of it's stains. Soon, his chest began to rise and fall more quickly, and a slight smile played at the corners of his lips.

He was breathing fresh air. Free air. He could feel it.

Dean's eyes fluttered, then opened only a crack; just enough to orient on his baby brother's worried face. "Sammy?"

"Yeah, Dean. I'm here."

Dean smiled tiredly, blinked a couple of times, and drifted back to sleep; a relaxed, happy grin on his face.

----------------------

**Author's Note: Want me to keep going?**

**PLEASE REVIEW!!! THANK YOU!!!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Sorry for the long, long delay; first my Dad visited, then hunting season started...I work in a taxidermy shop in the evenings (after my real job), so you can see where my time would be otherwise occupied. And, of course, Season 2 came out on dvd a couple weeks ago... Hopefully you will like the final product of this chapter. I had to rewrite it a couple of times to get it where I liked it.**

**Just in case you care, this chapter would probably be rated R if in theater. There is nudity, gross Hell torture scene, and language, but NO SLASH (eww.).**

**Thanks to reviewers GotTheShining, imissmymind, hardyboyfansrock, RedDragen, Heather, Marthienessx3, ReecesPieces, pandora jazz, Julie, Dark Angels Vengeance, Elliesmeow, fairyofmusic, JHNNangel13, lekelly, XxCrash.And.BurnXx, Alienmom, teal-lover, yasmine32068, Poaetpainter, chat-noir-91, ukfan101, St0pSmackinMe07, and pinkphoenix1985 for your helpful insights and praise.**

**Disclaimer: see Chp 1.**

------------------------------------------------

_Dean smiled tiredly, blinked a couple of times, and drifted back to sleep; a relaxed, happy grin on his face._

A tear of joy rolled down Sam's cheek as he pulled Dean into a hug, holding him tightly for several minutes. When he finally released his hold on Dean, he looked up to see that Bobby and Ellen had been silently wrapping up the business at hand. The gate was closed now, and all their equipment, except Sam's sword, had been packed away on Bobby's truck.

Sam and Bobby worked out that Sam would take Dean in the truck, and Bobby and Ellen would follow on Sam's bike.

"Thanks, Bobby." Sam said; rising from his kneeling position he shook Bobby's hand and pulled him into a hug. "Really. Thank you both." He released Bobby and hugged Ellen.

"Well," she said, still holding Sam tightly. "I would say 'don't mention it', but...well." She pulled back and gave Sam a crooked smile.

Sam chortled. He knew he would owe both Ellen and Bobby until his dying days for what they had done this night. "If you'll help me get him into the truck, I just want to get him into town and check into a motel."

Bobby, Ellen, and Sam all lifted Dean from the ground, and gently put him into the passenger side of Bobby's old blue tow truck, lowering him to the horizontal position and tucking his long, too skinny legs into the floorboard. Sam stood there for a moment looking at his big brother's battered and malnourished body. He couldn't imagine what Dean had gone through over the last five years, but if the condition they found him in were any indication, Sam knew every second of it had been sheer torture.

Sam blinked away new tears at that thought, and turned to the older hunters. "When we get back into town, could I talk you guys into goin' to get the Impala?"

Ellen smiled, pulled the Impala keys from the pocket of her jacket, and nodded. "I figured you'd want these back once you were done playing the hero. I'm up for goin' ta get it. Bobby? Are you in?"

"Of course. Dean's gonna want her back, and after what he's been through, I think the sooner he gets her, the better." Bobby clapped Sam on the back.

Wamsutter, WY was tiny, and did not provide acceptable accomodations for the night, so the Winchester brothers were forced to move on to Rawlins, about 35 miles east along I-80.

As the sun broke the horizon over the eastern mountains, they pulled up to a small motel that was off the main drag of the town called King Courts. Sam left Dean asleep in the truck to secure a room, pausing as he closed the door to look at his unconscious brother again, still unable to fully believe the events that had just taken place, or that this was really Dean, alive.

The pretty brunette clerk, who couldn't have been out of high school yet, flirted briefly, and unsuccessfully, with Sam, then asked if he wanted a room with a king or two queens. Sam had to choke back his words and answer for two queens, as a broad smile graced his scarred face.

Bobby and Ellen pulled into the hotel on Sam's bike as he was exiting the office, and again helped to move Dean, this time into the welcoming hotel room and under the warm covers of a well-worn, but extremely soft, bed.

The two older hunters decided to get some rest before heading back to Beatrice, NE for the Impala, so rented the rooms on either side of Sam and Dean's.

Sam pulled the heavy curtains to the room closed to keep out the bright sun of the new day and plopped down on the empty bed nearest the door. He had chosen to place himself between Dean and the door, silently fearing that this all might be a dream, too good to be true, and that the minions of Hell would burst through the door at any second to reclaim the wayward soul. He pulled the sword from his duffle bag and removed the sheath, then laid the naked blade gently on the bed and began removing his shoes.

_Man, I could really use a shower,_ he thought, as he tucked his head slightly to get a whiff of the stench issuing from his armpits; he scrunched his face involuntarily at the foul smell. He looked at where Dean was sleeping solidly on the bed next to his and sighed heavily, wavering between playing guard dog and getting clean. Dean hadn't moved or made a noise since they had loaded him into the truck back at the cemetary, which worried Sam a bit, causing him to check Dean's pulse and breathing periodically. Dean seemed to be fine, and the last thing Sam wanted to do was try to wake him from what seemed to be restful, recuperative sleep. Noting the small ray of sunshine that still managed to slip in under the closed curtains, Sam guessed that if the Forces of Evil were planning something untoward, they probably wouldn't do it in broad daylight, so he stripped off his shirt and headed for the bathroom.

He placed one hand on the wall at shoulder height and leaned against it as he let the sound of the water completely fill his ears. The water covered his face and began to wash the remants of Hell off his battered body. He took note of several small gashes that he had acquired on the journey, but none of them enough to require stitches, and the Holy Water he had ingested seemingly negated any poison that may have been on the offending talons. He sighed deeply, and fell to his knees in the cascading stream from the showerhead, weeping quietly and closing his eyes in a silent prayer of thanks to God.

"No!!" Dean's cry filled Sam's ears. "No!! NOOO!!" In an instant, he jumped up, threw back the cheap plastic showercurtain and leaped out of the shower. Grabbing the sawn-off shotgun loaded with rock-salt rounds that he had strategically placed inside the bathroom door, Sam pulled the door open forcefully, practically pulling it off the hinges.

"Dean!" he yelled, running toward his brother. Sam took a quick inventory of the small room. There was nothing out of place, nothing jumping out to attack him, no minions of Hell come to kidnap his brother. Just Dean, tossing and turning in a sleep that could now most definitely be described as un-restful, and Sam doubted it was recuperative. "Dean! Wake up!"

Sam let out the breath he had subconsciously been holding. He put down the shotgun, reached down and retrieved the boxer shorts he had been wearing the night before and put them back, practically falling over because he was trying to do it so quickly. Once the task had been accomplished, he knelt beside Dean's bed and shook Dean.

"No! You're not Sam!! Leave me alone you evil son of a bitch!" Dean shouted in his sleep, struggling physically to get away from Sam's touch.

The younger brother stared, mouth ajar, in mortification at his writhing older sibling. "Dean..." He tried shaking him again.

"Sam?!" there was a pounding on the door. It was Bobby. "You okay in there? I heard screaming."

Sam looked back and forth between the door and Dean. As Bobby pounded on the door again threatening to bust it open, Sam slowly got up and made his way over to unlock it. There stood Bobby, in his trucker cap and boxer shorts with his shotgun at the ready. As he walked through the now open door, Ellen came running from her own room, her makeshift sword in hand.

"Yeah, Bobby, we're okay...I think." Sam frowned and motioned over to Dean, who was still suffering through the nighmare. "I think he's having a nightmare."

(Dream sequence, words NOT in italics are Dean's thoughts)

_Dean looked around, he was back in the pit where he had been forced to fight Choronzons gladiator-style time and time again. No matter how hard he fought, or how he altered his strategy, he always lost. They always knew where his next punch would land, or which way he would swerve, which usually ended in him being torn painfully limb from limb. He looked around the walls and shivered. He was sure he could still see traces of his own blood speckling the rock. He was dazed, he couldn't fathom how he'd gotten back here...he could have sworn he had just seen Sam, who promised him they were going home._

_"No!!" Dean screamed in frustration. _I can't be back here, God damn it!!_ "No!! NOO!!" He fell to his knees and pounded the sandy ground, heartbroken._

_"Dean!" He looked up at the sound of the familiar voice. It was Sam, but it wasn't. He was perfect, but ...different. "Dean, let me help you up." The mimick stuck out it's hand._

_"No! You're not Sam!! Leave me alone you evil son of a bitch!" Dean rolled onto his butt and crawled away backward._

_The mimick turn his head and looked at Dean disapprovingly. "Now, Dean... Let me help you. We'll get out of here, go back to life..." it said, advancing slowly, with a sadistic grin on it's face._

_Dean's hand touched the wall behind him, preventing him from retreating further. He used the wall to pull himself to the standing position. "Get back!" he shouted._

_"Wake up, Dean." the doppelganger laughed. "This is Hell, there's no getting away from your demons. Face it, you left me. You abandonned me. Yoooou lied to me. Said you 'weren't going anywhere'. Well you did! For FIVE years!"_

_"Fuck you!" Dean spat. "You're NOT SAM. You don't have the right to lay a guilt-trip on me! FUCK YOU!" Dean looked around for something to defend himself with, but knew all too well that the pit would provide nothing but pain and suffering._

_"You're right. Here's what I can do."_

_As if on cue, two Choronzon appeared from the shadows, one on either side of him. Dean looked down at his shirtless torso, it had spontaneously begun to bleed from a multitude of past injuries. He looked up as the monster on his left lunged at him, he felt his neck loosen. Dean knew this feeling, it was the harbinger of greater pain than anyone should be required to endure. He grabbed his neck with both hands, as if to hold his head on straight._

_"You won't break me!" he shouted at the mimick as the beast on his right caught his leg in it's talons. "You'll never win!" With that, Dean turned to the monster holding him and was tossed like a rag doll to the other creature. As it caught him, the Choronzon pulled Dean's arms away from his neck forcefully. _

_Dean struggled to fight back, but he was nowhere near strong enough, and hadn't been for quite some time. He would have won this fight when he first went to Hell. Two Choronzon were nothing, childsplay. But not after five years..._

_The monster held Dean up by his arms and the other creature advanced. Dean let out a blood curdling scream, unsuited for any adult male, as the second creature separated his head from his torso._

_As the scream echoed through the chamber, the creature with Sam's visage smirked and said "Won't win, eh? I already have..."_

Dean had been screaming non-stop for several minutes. Sam, Bobby, and Ellen had tried everything they knew of to wake him, but nothing had worked.

"Maybe hold his nose and suffocate him a little?" Ellen suggested. Sam and Bobby looked at her, astounded. "_What_? It worked on Joanna Beth when she was little."

Bobby shrugged. "I guess it's worth a shot. If we don't shut him up the cops are gonna be here in no time."

Sam nodded solemnly and moved toward Dean, but before he laid a hand on him, Dean stopped screaming and fell limp. Sam looked at Dean shocked, and was answered by confused looks when he turned back to the two older hunters. He leaned forward to check for a pulse as a polite knock at the door broke the silence.

Bobby opened the door just a crack to find the petite brunette from the front desk wringing her hands in front of her. "Is everything okay?" she asked meekly. She looked terrified of the answer and must have been asking herself what she was thinking, going to a screaming guest's room unescorted, unprotected.

"Yeah," Bobby said, and opened the door to show her Dean lying on the bed. "He just got back from Afghanistan last week. He went through Hell over there, lost a lot of guys in his unit. Has really bad nightmares. This never-ending fucking war..."

Her eyes grew wide. "Wow," was all she managed to say.

"We'll try to keep him quiet," Ellen said as she maneuvered the girl back out the door and closed it tight behind her.

"Nice cover, Bobby," Sam said quietly. He had found a pulse and could see that Dean was breathing regularly again. "Why don't you guys go try to get some sleep. He seems to be okay for now--"

"We'll sit here with him for a while." Ellen cut him off. "Why don't _you_ go finish your shower."

Sam had never had a mother, but if he had, he assumed losing an argument to her would have gone much like this. He nodded and headed back for the bathroom where the shower was still running.

----------------------

**Author's Note: **

**Wow, you know, I'm a lot better at torturing the characters than I am at writing about candy canes and lollypops. And you thought it was going to be all downhill now that they got out of Hell...**

**Sorry, no spell check this chapter.**

**Yay! Only a week and a half before we all get real Supernatural stories again and can (temporarily) stop making up our own!!!!**

**PLEASE REVIEW!!! THANK YOU!!!**


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry I haven't written anything on this in so long

**Sorry I haven't written anything on this in so long. I simply didn't have the time.**

**So apparently, asterisks don't show up on . Who knew? And there were lots of pretty, happy little asterisks running around frolicking in the last chapter.**

**Thanks to reviewers for your helpful insights and praise.**

**Disclaimer: see Chp 1.**

--

Less than fifteen minutes later, Sam Winchester stepped from the tiny bathroom in clean clothes and wet hair. Ellen looked up from her post at Dean's bedside, shocked to see Sam wearing a cream colored button up with an adobe paisley print, the sleeves rolled up just short of the elbow, with a white tee underneath barely showing at the collar.

"Well, I'll be," she said, standing. "I haven't seen you lookin' this spiffy in years!"

Sam shrugged, letting a half smile cross his lips. "You know, I figured if Dean was gonna come too soon, maybe he should wake to someone he actually recognized."

Ellen pulled him into a hug. "It's about damn time you showed back up. We've missed you... But I think that scar kinda gives you away."

Sam chuckled silently. "Yeah. How's he doin'?" He released her from the hug and moved to Dean's bed, instinctively checking for a pulse again.

It was Ellen's turn to shrug. "No change that I can see, but at least he's not screaming anymore."

"Where's Bobby?"

"He went to find Dean some clothes, said he'd be back in 'bout an hour." She sat on the foot of the bed. "We'll head out to get the Impala as soon as he gets back."

Silent for a moment, Sam walked over to the window and moved the curtain only slightly to peek out. "No, don't be ridiculous, Ellen. You guys haven't even slept yet, and it doesn't look like Dean's going to be needing the car as soon as I'd hoped."

"Don't give up on him, Sam." She laid a gentle hand on Dean's sheet-clad leg. "He's been through a lot. It'll take some time."

Both were quiet for a few minutes, though Sam moved over to his bed and sat down facing Dean. Eventually, Ellen rose and headed for the door.

"Can I get you anything?" She asked softly as she placed her hand on the doorknob.

"Whiskey, straight up," he responded with a smirk.

She only smiled and shook her head slightly as she pulled the door to behind her.

((((((((((((((((Dean's Dreams)))))))))))))))))

_"Dean!"_

_"Sammy??" Dean called, unsure if he was actually hearing his name. _

_"Dean!!" He heard it again._

_"Sam!?" Dean tried to stand, but seemed to be stuck in some sort of cement. Wherever he was, it was very dark. He had thought Sam was calling to him. It would be good to see Sam, he felt like he hadn't seen him in ages, but he felt like he'd just gotten to this place._

_There was something wrong, though. He didn't know quite what, but something was nagging at him. There was some reason, something very important that he had been kept from his brother. He just couldn't remember what. And what was the substance holding him?_

_"Sammy?? You'll have to come to me! I can't move!" He shouted, and in the distance he again thought he heard his little brother's call._

Can he not hear me? I can hear him, and I can yell louder than he ever could, so if I can hear him, he should be able to hear me._ Dean thought. _

_He struggled fiercely against his unseen bonds. If Sam couldn't get to him, then he'd just have to get to Sam. "Sam!!"_

_Dean continued to struggle, wriggle, twist, squirm...anything he could think of to break free. He could not see what was holding him, but it was very effective. Fight though he may, he knew that this was not something to get angry about, just something that needed to be conquered, like the many other tribulations in the strange, strange lives of the Winchesters._

_"Sam!"_

_"Hahahahaha..." a maniacal laughter issued from behind Dean, though his imprisonment would not allow him to turn and see from who, or what. "'Sammy, Sammy, help me Sammy!'" the voice began to mock him._

_"Who's there?"_

_"Why Dean, I'm hurt you don't recognize my voice." The speaker paused, as if giving Dean time to sort through the newest clue in a puzzle game._

_For his part, Dean was wracking his gray-matter to try to place the voice. After a couple of minutes, he put forth a guess. "Rumplestiltskin? No, no, I'm sorry, you're Thumbilina?"_

_"Aw, nice try, but no cigar. Surely you'd remember me if I stuck some pretty young mother to the ceiling and lit a crib on fire."_

_"Azazel, you son of a bitch!" Dean called into the dark, knowing that there was a yellow-eyed demon wearing some poor bastard's meat near by. He was beginning to get a little more concerned about his well being now that he knew Sam's was not the only voice in the dark. _Shit, _his thoughts immediately whisked away from his own well-being,_ Is he wearing _Sam's_ meat?? The voice _did_ sound an awful lot like Sam's.

_But the demon interrupted his concerned thought chain. "Aw, careful now, that'd be my mother you were speaking of...if I had one, anyway, I'm sure I'd love her, and want to protect her honor." _

_Thankfully, the voice no longer resembled Sam's at all; in fact, it now sounded like the unfortunate janitor whom Azazel had been possessing when Dean shot him._

_"You're dead. I killed you. How are you here? What do you want?" Dean squirmed, he wasn't sure why, but he could feel that he was very familiar with not being able to move, not being able to control his extremities. It was starting to get very old, very fast._

_"Want? Oh, I already have what I want. Little Sammy leading my demon army, you rotting in Hell...what more could a guy ask for?"_

_It all came flooding back to Dean. He was in Hell. The reason he couldn't move, yesterday (or was that last week?) he had been shredded once again by the Choronzon. But he was certain that Sam was not leading any demon army. If Sam was ever going to use those powers Azazel had provided, he would have done it to keep Dean from going to Hell in the first place, like that bitch Ruby had tried convincing him to do._

_"You're lying," he said, directing it simply into the darkness. "He would never do that."_

_"Ha ha ha...you've been gone a very long time, Dean. You always touted the glories of family...all for one and one for all, right?" The voice moved in a circle around Dean, it's source pacing slowly around the room. "Well, imagine Sam, left all alone... One for himself."_

_"Lyyyingg!" Dean shouted childishly._

_"Am I? People do desperate things in desperate times. Just remember what you did, what really got you here. You're so pathetic, Dean; you couldn't even deal with your brother's death. You Winchesters really are all alike. What do you think Sam's been up to since _your_ death? What extremes do you think he could have gone to since he already killed that red-eyed bitch you went whining to?"_

_Dean didn't respond, his mind consumed in it's own depths seeking any possible memories that could prove certainly one way or the other. He couldn't believe that Sam would ever go 'dark side', something that Dean had specifically forbade, practically begging Sam to stay true to who he was and not dependent upon some demon's power._

_But that was really it, wasn't it? Dean had to _beg_ Sam not to do it. Sam had spent almost his entire life resisting authority, John, and Dean. And without Dean there to prevent it, how could he know that Sam hadn't?_

I have to get to Sam!_ Dean thought frantically, struggling harder against his unseen bonds._

_As he struggled, the voice in the darkness simply continued to laugh maniacally._

--

**Author's Note: **

**Since the last thing I wrote was prior to Season 3, I had to encorporate Ruby into this (sorry, to those of you who hate her). I'm a little rusty, hopefully I did it justice. There will be more.**

**(On a similar note, poor Lauren Cohen. Love her, hate that character. Too bad it didn't work out for her. I wish her luck on her career.)**

**PLEASE REVIEW!! THANK YOU!!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Thanks to reviewers for your helpful insights and praise. By the way 7/27 is my birthday (the day I'm publishing this chapter) and I'll be 27 today. :)**

**Disclaimer: see Chp 1.**

--

Bobby came bustling through the hotel door less than an hour later, as promised, carrying three bags from the chain discount superstore located just down the highway, the kind of store that sells everything from guns to groceries.

As he laid the bags on the small table adjoining the shaded window, Bobby pulled a 9 mm pistol from one of the bags and handed it to Sam.

"Did you _buy_ that??" Sam asked, slightly shocked that the older hunter would do something so likely to put them on the federal radar.

Bobby stood straight and focused Sam with an "_are you stupid_" look. "Does it look like it's in a damn box? Hell no. I grabbed it frum the truck. It ain't his fancy engraved .45, but I figgured if Dean comes 'round anytime soon, he'd wanna have somethin'."

The corner of Sam's mouth pulled up in a partial smile and he let out the tiniest of guffaws. Turning the gun over and over in his hands he didn't look up. "Bobby... I wanna thank you. For everything."

"Eh," Bobby began, also not looking up from diligently emptying one of the plastic bags. "Well, I know you boys'd do the same fer me," he said, grabbing another of the bags and pulling the various groceries out onto the table, while Sam took the last of the three, unloading a three-pack of men's tee-shirts, boxer briefs, socks, and a pair of jeans.

As he drapedthe jeans over the back of a chair, Bobby commented. "I didn't know what size he would be now, or what he was before, for that matter, so I guessed. And just in case..." At the last, with cocked grin and a twinkle in his eye, he pulled a belt from the bag he had been attending. Sam chuckled and took the belt.

"And," Bobby teased, and pulled something from the bag with a small flourish. "Dean's music."

Sam took the item from Bobby. Upon examination, he saw that it was a two-disc compilation CD of 70's music, including songs from AC/DC, STYX, Boston, The Who, Kansas, Led Zeppelin, Steve Miller Band, Rush, Blue Oyster Cult, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Black Sabbath and several others. "This is awesome, Bobby. You know, this may just be the very first CD Dean's ever owned."

"Now, it dudn't have any Metallica on it, so I hope he's not too upset. I got more food in the car. I didn't know how long ya'll are gonna be holed up here, so I got plenty."

Sam clapped his big hand down on Bobby's shoulder, squeazing it gratefully. "I'll go get the rest." He placed the CD on the table and left, Ellen slipping in the door as he exited. She quickly snapped up the CD and unwrapped it, then placed one of the disks into the cheap DVD player that the motel had provided.

"Maybe this will help. Who knows?" She said, turning on the TV so the music could play through it's speakers. "You, my friend, need to go get some sleep."

Bobby nodded. "How's he doin'?"

"Dean? He's the same. At least he's not screaming anymore. I think it will be a while before he comes to." She walked back to Dean's bedside and placed a loving hand on his forehead as though to check his temperature. "Sam, on the other hand... Did you see him?"

He pulled the curtain back only slightly to watch Sam's lanky form, clumsily unloading the grocery bags from the truck, a jar of peanut butter rolling away from him on the ground. "He does kinda seem like that boy we once knew, dudn't he?" Closing the curtain he looked at Ellen squarely. "I hope he's not getting his hopes up. Dean's prolly not gonna be the same person who got dragged off a table by Hell Hounds five years ago. Who knows if he's even gonna be sane."

Sam burst through the door, stumbling over the items still falling from a ripped bag, his arms overflowing with the rest of the bags. Bobby and Ellen scrambled to help him, Bobby practically preventing Sam from falling on his face. "Well, nobody can ever accuse ya of tryin'a do more than any one man should."

"Nope." Sam smiled, dumping the remaining contents of his big arms onto his empty bed. "Are you kidding me? We walked into Hell, and then walked back out. We're invincible." He gave them both a cheesy grin.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get too cocky, there, Tonto." Ellen reached past him to start emptying one of the bags. "We only got out of there by the grace of... well, you know. Not God."

"Anyway..." Sam grabbed one of the bags. "Look, I can unload all this stuff. You two go get some rest. I'm serious."

He threw an empty bag at Ellen, which she dodged playfully. "Yes, sir."

"You holler if ya need anything," Bobby commanded as he grabbed the door handle and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

"I will."

As soon as the room was empty, Sam's energy hit the floor barely before he did. His large frame crumbled to the floor, exhausted, his entire adrenaline supply depleted.

((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((Dean's Dreams))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

_He had been struggling relentlessly for longer than he could remember. Things had changed. He couldn't recall exactly what was going on, only that he was stuck and needed to get out of this quicksand as soon as possible. No, wait, not quicksand. He was sure that in quicksand you would at least be able to move your extremities; here he couldn't budge an inch. _Well,_ his crass mind thought_, maybe five or six inches worth, but that's another matter._ He chuckled to himself._

_Sex. Dean missed sex. At least, he thought he did; he couldn't remember. There was this one girl, about 9 years before he died...Gumby Girl...Lisa. He saw her again a few months before the end; she was doing good, but was no longer the carefree, bendy yoga teacher he spent that long weekend with. Now she had a kid who was just the right age to have been Dean's; he even liked the same things Dean liked. Gumby Girl had said the kid wasn't Dean's, though. _God, what was his name??_ He couldn't remember, but he was sad, because in some closed off part of his existence, Dean had really wanted the kid to be his, even though he didn't remember that part. Only the sadness, and fleeting thoughts that never stayed with him longer than the time it took for them to surge through his neurons. It was a little annoying, but only long enough for him to forget that it was annoying._

Damn it!_ He was still struggling, but again couldn't remember why. Something. Something very important. He had to get out._

_He had to remember. He_ had_ to remember._

Think, Dean! Damn it, think!! _He stopped struggling against his restraints, focusing all his energy on the mental Olympics that he was putting himself through. _

_He tried to run through all the logical questions he was sure any good amnesiac would ask themselves to piece together their world._

Who am I? Dean. Dean Winchester. That much I know.

Where am I? _He looked around, only seeing darkness._ Uh, we'll come back to that one.

Can I remember anyone? Well, there's Gumby Girl -- I mean Lisa. _He only remembered her because she had been the last flickering thought to pass through his mind. Frustrated, he tried to think of others._

Her kid, of course. Can't remember his name. But I had family. Real family, not one begged from a one-time mistress. Parents...and a...sister? No, a brother; I just teased him about being girly. S...something. Sean? Scott? Sonny? Sam? Sam. That was it. Sammy. _Jubilant, he remembered his Sammy, big and gangly, with shaggy hair, who was also his best friend._

Let's review, _he said to himself, trying to repeat his progress over and over so that he didn't forget it again._ I'm Dean Winchester. I slept with Lisa, who has a son, not mine. My brother is Sam. Okay. Next.

Job, _he thought. That would most likely be on the list of the amnesiac._ What do I do? I like cars...am I a mechanic? Cars...I have a car. A kick-ass car. My baby... black, leather interior, four door, sooped up engine, and a damn nice stereo. It's a 19...67...Chev...rolett Impala? Yes. A '67 Chevy Impala.

Okay. Dean Winchester, Sammy, Lisa, kid, and the Impala. Wait, but what was my job? _The knowledge of his hunting past still eluded him, but it made him fight all the harder to find it._

Sam wasn't alone. Parents. Mom and Dad, of course, but their names... Winchester, like mine. _Dean stopped repeating the information. He couldn't remember. _Damn it!

_As soon as he said it, another memory flickered into his consciousness. "What am I supposed to do?" It was Sammy, he was crying._

_"Keep fighting. And take care of my wheels." Dean remembered tossing a half smile in. "Sam, remember what Dad taught you, okay? And remember what _I_ taught you." The thought, running like a high definition movie on his eyelids, showed a tear stream down his younger brother's face._

_As soon as the tear fell, Dean's life came flooding back to him with a loud, white-hot flash. His mother's death during his tender youth...raising the baby Sam into a full grown man...trying to protect Sam from every evil that Dean knew was lurking in the dark...his father's obsession to find their mother's killer...the Yellow Eyed Demon...hunting...their family, making deal after deal to stay alive...Sam's murder and Dean's deal to resurrect him...his final year...and trying to save his Sammy from self-destruction. And then his own death. _

_Dean knew where he was now. Hell. He didn't know how long he had been there, and he was sure he was thankful that he didn't remember anything up to this point, but though he wasn't currently in pain and anguish, he knew he had to get out. 'Helpless' was not one of the life circumstances that had ever sat well with Dean, and he wasn't about to let it rule him now._

_Struggling hadn't seemed to do him a whole hell of a lot of good._

Okay, we'll take a different tack,_ Dean thought._ _Most of all, he knew he had to remember who and what he was, and could not let it slip away again. _

Well, it would only make sense that I would try to forget everything. If you're in Hell long enough...what's it called? Post traumatic stress amnesia? No, that's not it, but whatever it is, it's probably how everybody in Hell ends up as a demon, anyway-- DAMN IT! Remember what's important! Not this shit!

_Dean immediately started repeating what he could remember of his life. As he wracked his brain and repeated the gleaned information over and over, he failed to notice the small pinpoint of light that had appeared in the darkness, or how it grew steadily larger with every new piece of memory he retreived._

--

**Author's Note: **

**PLEASE REVIEW!! THANK YOU!!**


End file.
